Run: 2026-02-18-01KHQ9153A0MSTY1NTF6G40Y5H

Run Details

Model:: Claude Sonnet 4.6
Test:: Write N of X
Scenario:: 50 sentence summary
Duration:: 27.2s
Cost:: $0.022920
Provider:: Anthropic

Evaluation summary

Score	Evaluator	Details Link
92.22%	Matches sentence count	(details)

Model input

User/Human

Summarize the following text into exactly 50 sentences, only return the summary itself:

Jack Harper's fingers drummed against the polished bar top, the rhythm a stark contrast to the lazy steel drum music floating through the air. The salty breeze ruffled his meticulously styled hair, carrying the scent of coconut sunscreen and grilled seafood. Sunset Cove was a far cry from Wall Street, and his body knew it. His shoulders, usually tight with the weight of million-dollar deals, didn't know what to do with this forced relaxation.

He glanced at his watch. 6:30 PM. In New York, he'd be heading into a late meeting, not... whatever this was.

"Another scotch. Neat."

A melodic laugh floated over the bar noise. "Rough day at the beach?"

Jack's head snapped up, his gaze colliding with a pair of eyes that put the tropical waters to shame. The bartender's lips curved in amusement, a stark contrast to the judgmental stares he was accustomed to in New York.

"I don't see how anyone gets any work done around here."

"That's the point." She slid the scotch towards him, her movements fluid and unhurried. "We don't."

Jack's fingers closed around the glass, but he didn't lift it. "Some of us have empires to build."

"And some of us are happy with sandcastles." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The scent of vanilla and sea salt enveloped him. "They're more fun to knock down anyway."

A reluctant smile tugged at Jack's lips. His gaze dropped to her name tag. "Sandy, right?"

"Good eye, Mr..."

"Harper. Jack Harper."

"Well, Mr. Harper, what brings a suit like you to our little slice of paradise? You stick out like a penguin at a flamingo party."

Jack loosened his tie, suddenly aware of how out of place he must look. "Business. Though I'm starting to question my CEO's choice of location for our corporate retreat."

Sandy grabbed a pineapple from a nearby fruit bowl, spinning it in her hands like a basketball. "Let me guess. You're more of a concrete jungle type? All go, no slow?"

"The numbers don't lie. Time is money, and this place..." He waved his hand at the laid-back patrons, the swaying palm trees, the endless stretch of golden sand visible through the open-air bar. A pair of surfers trudged past, boards under their arms, laughing about something he couldn't hear. "It's a productivity black hole."

Sandy's eyebrow arched, a challenge sparking in her eyes. "Maybe you're looking at the wrong numbers."

"Excuse me?"

She set the pineapple down and gestured towards the horizon. The setting sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, its light dancing off the waves. "How much would you pay for that view in New York?"

Jack's gaze followed her hand, lingering on the breathtaking canvas nature had laid out. *Damn*. "Point taken."

"So, Jack Harper, master of the universe, what's your grand plan for Sunset Cove domination? Going to turn our little tiki bars into high-rises?"

He chuckled, surprised by how easily she drew him in. There was something about her – a spark, a quick wit that both challenged and intrigued him. "Would you believe me if I said I was here to destroy your quaint little town and build a mega-resort?"

Sandy's eyes widened in mock horror. She pressed a hand to her chest, her expression comically aghast. "You monster. And here I thought you were just another handsome face in an overpriced suit."

"Handsome, huh?"

"Don't let it go to your head. We get all types here." She grabbed a cocktail shaker, her hands moving with practiced ease as she mixed a drink for another customer. "Last week we had a guy who thought he was a mermaid. Now *that* was a look."

Jack leaned in, mirroring her earlier movement. The bar's bamboo edge dug into his stomach, but he barely noticed. "And what type am I?"

Sandy paused, studying him with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. "The kind that needs to loosen his tie and remember how to breathe." She reached out, her fingers brushing his collar. Jack froze, caught off guard by the casual intimacy. "You've got a bit of New York still clinging to you. Might want to dust that off if you plan on surviving here."

Their eyes locked, a challenge sparked between them. Jack felt a flutter in his chest that had nothing to do with the scotch. For a moment, the bar faded away. The music, the laughter, the crash of waves on the shore – it all became white noise.

A loud crash from the other end of the bar shattered the moment. Sandy straightened, professional mask sliding back into place. "Duty calls. Looks like someone's had a few too many Mai Tais."

"Wait-" Jack started, not ready for the conversation to end.

Sandy glanced back, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Try not to work too hard, Mr. Harper. You might accidentally enjoy yourself."

She sauntered away, navigating the crowded bar with ease. Jack watched her go, drawn to the confidence in her stride, the way other patrons lit up as she passed.

*What the hell just happened?*

He turned back to the bar, catching his reflection in the mirrored backsplash. His tie hung loose, his usually perfectly coiffed hair tousled by the sea breeze. He hardly recognized himself.

His phone buzzed, shattering the moment. A message from Marcus flashed on the screen: "Update on the Sinclair account? Don't forget why you're there, Harper."

Reality came crashing back. Jack downed the rest of his scotch, the expensive liquor wasted on his suddenly dry throat. He stood, straightening his tie and smoothing back his hair.

*Focus, Harper. You're not here to flirt with bartenders.*

But as he walked out, the warm wood of the deck creaking under his polished shoes, he couldn't help glancing back. Sandy stood behind the bar, laughing at something a customer said. The fading sunlight caught her hair, turning it to spun gold.

*This could be a problem.*

The ocean breeze hit him as he stepped onto the beach, carrying away the last notes of the bar's music. Jack paused, his shoes sinking slightly into the sand. To his left, the neatly manicured path led back to the resort – back to his laptop, his reports, his familiar world of numbers and deals.

To his right, the beach stretched out, wild and inviting. A few people lingered, silhouetted against the darkening sky. A couple walked hand in hand at the water's edge. A child's delighted shriek carried on the wind as they chased the retreating waves.

Jack's phone buzzed again. Another message from Marcus.

He looked back at the Tiki Hut. Through the windows, he could just make out Sandy's profile as she mixed another drink.

*Get it together, Harper. Eyes on the prize.*

With a final glance at the sunset, Jack turned left, his shoes leaving perfectly formed imprints in the sand as he headed back to his room. But even as he walked away, he could still hear Sandy's laugh, could still feel the ghost of her fingers against his collar.

Sunset Cove, it seemed, had more to offer than he'd bargained for.

Model response

Jack Harper, a high-powered Wall Street CEO, sits at an open-air tiki bar in Sunset Cove, a tropical beach town far removed from his usual environment. He drums his fingers restlessly on the bar, his body unable to adjust to the forced relaxation of the corporate retreat. His shoulders, normally tight from million-dollar deals, feel out of place in such a laid-back setting. He glances at his watch, noting it is 6:30 PM, a time when he would normally be heading into a late meeting in New York. He orders a scotch, neat, his voice carrying the clipped tone of a man accustomed to being in charge. A melodic laugh catches his attention, and he looks up to find a bartender with striking eyes and an amused smile. She slides his drink toward him with unhurried, fluid movements, immediately setting herself apart from anyone he encounters in his professional world. He comments that he cannot understand how anyone gets any work done in such a place. She replies simply that getting work done is not the point. Jack insists that some people have empires to build, to which she responds that some people are perfectly happy with sandcastles. She leans forward conspiratorially, her scent of vanilla and sea salt momentarily disarming him. She adds that sandcastles are more fun to knock down anyway, drawing a reluctant smile from Jack. He notices her name tag reads Sandy, and she asks for his name in return. He introduces himself as Jack Harper, and she immediately sizes him up as a corporate type who stands out awkwardly in the tropical setting. She compares him to a penguin at a flamingo party, and he loosens his tie self-consciously. Jack explains he is in Sunset Cove for a corporate retreat, though he is beginning to question the choice of location. Sandy spins a pineapple in her hands and guesses he is an all-go, no-slow kind of person. Jack gestures broadly at the swaying palms, golden sand, and relaxed patrons, calling the place a productivity black hole. Sandy raises an eyebrow and challenges him by suggesting he might be looking at the wrong numbers. She gestures toward the sunset painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks and asks how much such a view would cost in New York. Jack pauses, genuinely struck by the beauty of the scene, and concedes her point. Sandy teases him further, asking if his grand plan is to tear down tiki bars and build high-rises. He laughs and plays along, jokingly confessing he is there to build a mega-resort over their quaint town. Sandy reacts with comical mock horror, calling him a monster and acknowledging that he is, at least, a handsome one. Jack seizes on the compliment, and she quickly waves it off, saying they get all types at the bar. She recounts a recent customer who believed he was a mermaid, keeping the conversation light and playful. Jack leans in and asks what type she thinks he is. Sandy studies him with a quiet intensity that makes his pulse quicken before responding that he is the kind who needs to loosen his tie and remember how to breathe. She reaches out and brushes his collar, a casual intimacy that catches him completely off guard. Their eyes lock and the noise of the bar seems to fall away entirely around them. A loud crash from the other end of the bar breaks the spell, and Sandy straightens, her professional composure sliding back into place. Jack tries to keep the conversation going, not ready for the moment to end. She glances back with a mischievous smile, telling him to try not to work too hard or he might accidentally enjoy himself. She moves away through the crowded bar with ease, and other patrons visibly brighten as she passes. Jack catches his reflection in the mirrored backsplash and barely recognizes the loosened, wind-tousled version of himself staring back. His phone buzzes with a message from his colleague Marcus, demanding an update on the Sinclair account and reminding him why he is there. Reality crashes back in and Jack downs the rest of his scotch before standing and straightening himself back into his usual polished appearance. He reminds himself firmly that he is not there to flirt with bartenders and begins walking toward the exit. As he leaves, he glances back one last time to see Sandy laughing with a customer, the fading sunlight catching her hair and turning it to gold. He steps onto the beach and pauses as the ocean breeze washes over him, the bar's music fading behind him. To his left lies the neat path back to his resort room, his laptop, and the familiar world of numbers and deals. To his right, the beach stretches out wild and inviting beneath a darkening sky, with couples strolling at the water's edge and children chasing retreating waves. His phone buzzes again with another message from Marcus. Jack looks back once more toward the Tiki Hut where he can just make out Sandy's silhouette as she mixes another drink. He turns left toward his room, his polished shoes leaving precise imprints in the sand. Even as he walks away, he can still hear the echo of Sandy's laugh and feel the ghost of her fingers at his collar. Sunset Cove, it seems, has far more to offer than he had ever bargained for.

Evaluation details

Result

Evaluator

Details

Meta Data

92.22%

Matches sentence count

n/a

neededClean	false
sentences	47